


For I have traveled far and wide...

by steelneena



Series: CR 2 Oneshots and Short Series [15]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb gets to cuddle a 'real' cat that still isn't a real cat, Comfort, Fix It, Gen, Messing with dnd magic, Molly is a cat, Mollycat...thursday?, The Tealeaf Mansion, Xhorhaus, Yeah that's it, reincarnation doesn't work like that but fuck it, soft, sorry Caleb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 16:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/steelneena
Summary: Molly won't stop until he's found his way back to the Mighty Nein.





	For I have traveled far and wide...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meridas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/gifts).



> This is like...The Adventures of Milo and Otis...or Homeward Bound, but you know, it's just Molly and he's a cat and there are no dogs.
> 
> Today is the fourth. No beta. We die like men.
> 
> Also, here is a picture of the cat I based Molly on: https://cf.ltkcdn.net/cats/images/std/246888-675x450-ragdoll-cat.jpg

It’s taken a while to get used to the fact that he’s so low to the ground. Ironically, above everything else, that’s the worst of it, the seeing the world from a completely different perspective thing. He doesn’t even really mind not being able to talk to people, because his meows get him enough affection as it is. Luckily, there’s not been any asshole guards around to kick him sky high like had once happened to Frumpkin. If that happened to him, he wasn’t likely to go ‘poof’ back to the feywild.

Waking up a cat had been a surprise for sure. He’s a young cat, that much he knows, his muscles elastic and powerful, the pads of his paws not yet hardened, but, in some ways, it’s not all that different from being a tiefling. Sure, he doesn’t have horns, but he does have a tail still, and people _constantly_ want to give him massages, which he no longer has to pay for. So, all in all, considering what had happened to him, life could be worse.

Sometimes, life is worse.

Like right now.

Mud clings to his long fur coat. He knows, because he saw himself in a window once, that he has dark brown patterning on his head, down his back, fading into cream all down his bushy tail, but right now, he’s fairly certain no one could tell that he’s primarily a white cat. He’s positively caked in the stuff, and it’s cold and wet and his paws sink into the ground uncomfortably, and there’s no trees in this place.

But he’s on a mission, and he’s not about to be stopped.

When he’d been revived a cat – something he didn’t even know was possible – he imagined that whoever’d done it hadn’t figured there’d be a use for him like this. It was probably Cree, all high and mighty because she could walk on two legs, or something. If it had been, and he ever saw her again, he’d have to thank her for leaving him.

It had been difficult to find signs of them at first, and he’d spent some time wondering if they were even alive, but eventually, listening in as unobtrusively as possible, he’d managed to hear about the Blooming Grove and found his way to the most wonderful woman he’d met – Yasha aside, of course. Nila’s hands were large and strong and he’d had the best luck of all when she, being the druid she was, decided to _speak_ to him.

When she discovered who he was, she hadn’t put him down for an hour, cuddling him close to her chest, speaking softly to him the entire time.

He’d learned a lot that day, including that, with some time, she would be able to look for his friends. So Molly stayed, and grew stronger, more surefooted.

(And he got plenty of free backrubs from Nila, her son, and her husband, to boot.)

Though he grew restless, he’d held out long enough to wait for her to learn the spell.

It was the only reason he was where he was currently. Somehow, his luck just kept holding.

When she’d scryed on Beau, they’d been speaking about where they were heading. Knowing they were in Xhorhaas was surprising enough, but to hear that they were heading for the capital city, potentially, was astonishing to say the least. It was just a matter of _getting there_ before they went elsewhere, especially on his short, short legs.

So he’d hopped a caravan here or there. It wasn’t difficult to find one heading to Xhorhaas from the Run, and none of them minded having him along, considering he kept away unwanted rodents – and wasn’t that something? He’d never have expected to be eating Nott and Yasha’s favoured dish with any degree of relish, but to a cat tongue, rats aren’t really that terrible.

From what he’s seen of Xhorhaas so far, it shouldn’t be too terribly difficult to find the Mighty Nein amongst the legions of drow and bugbears and gnolls, especially since Nila told him that they’d taken a firbolg with them, who was as pink as Jester was blue.

In the end, he finds them because of the tree.

Two drow are speaking to one another in the street when he winds his way passed them through the mud and overhears them shit talking their new neighbours as they gaze up at the enormous tree sprouting from the top of the mansion’s tower. At first, it’s just a relief to know that they haven’t left in the time it took him to arrive, though he does wonder how on earth they managed to score a house in a hostile foreign nation.

Some things, it seems, are destined never to change.

On the way there, he rubs against a few walls, trying to get the worst of the mud off of him. He knows that, regardless of what happens, they’ll take him in, considering that both Caleb and Jester are among their number, but it will certainly be easier if he looks cleaner.

His first real difficulty is getting in the door. By the Moonweaver’s grace, he’s somehow managed to maintain his intellect and memory, but even that has limits when it comes to a stonework manse with barred windows and a closed door, and the only tree for miles is the one _on the roof_. So, like any good cat who wants something, Molly decides to make as much of a stink as possible, sitting first at the door, scratching and meowing as loudly as he’s able. When that doesn’t produce any response, he hops onto the sill by one of the barred windows and repeats.

And repeats.

And repeats.

Until, finally –

“Oh, hallo, kätschen, komm heir, mein kleiner Süße!”

Caleb, predictable as ever, lured in by a cat. Immediately, Molly hops off the sill and runs over to the door where Caleb stands, pawing the air at his calves, careful not to dirty him too much, because, Molly notices, Caleb is…clean? And wearing new clothes.

Attractive new clothes. Not that that can go anywhere, now that he’s catified, but Molly appreciates it all the same.

“Oh, you are a mess, Süße. How did you get so covered in mud, hmm? I did not know they kept cats here, but you do not look like you belong to anyone…”

 _I do!_ Molly wants to say, meowing furiously _. I belong here! With all of you!_

“You are so vocal, Liebschen! So plaintive, ja?” Caleb crouches down, tickling him under the chin before pulling his newly muddied hand away. “You stay here, and I will be right back with a towl and we will get you clean and see just how beautiful you are, okay?”

That, honestly, sounds like heaven, so he starts purring, loud as he’s able. The desire to rub up against Caleb is strong, – some of the more pervasive catlike instincts do push out his tiefling ones, on occasion - but he restrains himself and sits town, tail curling around his form, and keeps purring, blinking his eyes lazily.

“Wie Süß!” Caleb exclaims, and Molly – if he still could – would have snorted. “You are such a good cat. You stay here and I will be right back.”

Something in Caleb’s voice is reassuring enough that Molly believes him, and before long, he is returned, towel and all, and when Caleb crouches down again, holding out the towel, Molly wastes no time in going right to him, purring throughout the duration. Even with the cloth between them, being held by someone for the first time in weeks is impossibly wonderful, and Molly nuzzles at Caleb’s chest through the cloth.

“So affectionate, my gods, wherever you came from, I hope they do not want you back, because I am keeping you for sure. Aber, _fick_ , Jester will kill me for having pestered her about der Hund und das Wiesel. Ah well, she will not be upset for long, because I can tell already that you are a very handsome boy and you will clean up nice, ja? I am sorry I do not know prestidigitation, or I would magic you clean myself, but you will have to deal with the water, I’m sorry. Perhaps, since you are so easy going so far, you will not mind it so much.”

As Caleb rambles on, Molly comes to the conclusion that he’d have had a lot more luck in the Caleb department if he’d been a cat in the first place. Now that he’s fuzzy and small and cute and very much not a person, he’s the apple of Caleb’s eye, apparently. For a moment, Molly wonders how Frumpkin will feel about that. But then, he remembers that Frumpkin is only _mostly_ a real cat, and realizes that this – finding him – must be the best thing that’s happened to Caleb in a long time…well, new clothes aside.

He’s set down in a basin, and the towel is taken away. Caleb’s words are mostly in Zemnian now, which isn't terribly helpful, but his tone of voice makes it obvious enough that he’s being sweettalked. Attempting to make heads or tails of it leaves him oblivious to the fact that he’s about to be doused with water until it’s too late. Logically, he knew it was coming, but tief-brain and cat-brain aren’t on the same page when it comes to water, and he’s struck still as Caleb talks him through the bath, running water over his fur and smoothing the mud out gently with his hands. Caleb’s sleeves are rolled up to the elbow now, revealing bare forearms, much to Molly’s surprise, and he can see there myriad pale scars. Whatever gave him the comfort enough to remove the wraps, Molly is glad for it and nuzzles extra much into his hand when next it nears, purring.

Eventually, all the mud is washed away, and he’s starting to feel wonderful, despite how damp he is. Caleb’s started in on his paws now, which are small and delicate, picking them up and massaging them to extend his claws, cleaning between each toe with tender care. Whatever he’s saying is lost in translation now; the inflections are normal. For all Molly knows, Caleb could be relating spells from memory, or a smutty story. It wouldn’t make a difference to him. It’s soothing, listening to him talk, comforting simply in knowing that he’s finally made it, that’s he’s _finally_ back where he belongs. Next order, figuring out how to convey that to them.

But all consideration of that is temporarily put on hold when Caleb lifts him out of the basin and sets him on another towel and beings to gently dry him off.

This, ultimately, is better than a massage, and he’s purring like a lunatic before he even realizes it, simply happy to be doted on by Caleb. He wants to see the others, too, of course. And _especially_ Yasha, if she’s with them and not off Yasha-ing that is, but for the time being, he’s perfectly content. And when he’s mostly dry and Caleb lets the towel fall and then, ever so slowly, reaches out a hand, presumably for Molly to sniff. It’s amusing, considering he’s already let Caleb pick him up and hold him, that Caleb is acting as though he still has to take his time, give Molly space.

“There now,” Caleb says, finally speaking common again. “You are all clean, and ja, just as I suspected, very handsome. Now your coat is all silky and smooth, but I will need to procure a brush for you, since your beautiful fur is so long, Süße. Will you come to me, hmm? Friendly boy?”

Just to be coy, Molly holds off a second, sniffing Caleb’s proffered hand and then sticks his nose up and under, pressing his head all along Caleb’s palm, purring loudly as he’s able. A few scritches later and some lovely fondling of his ears, Molly decides that enough is enough and puts his front paws up on Caleb’s chest, meowing insistently.

“Shall I pick you up?”

He meows again and bats at Caleb’s chest. This, he learned long ago, is a surefire way to get most any person to pick him up and coo at him, and Caleb is no exception. The moment his dexterous hand cups under his forelegs, and he’s lifted from the surface, Molly goes happily limp, allowing Caleb to curl him into his chest, hugging him there tightly.

It’s heavenly bliss, being held and petted all at once, while _clean_ and he arches his head up to butt at Caleb’s cleanshaven chin.

And then, Caleb chuckles. The deep, reverberating rumble passes over Molly though Caleb’s chest and he revels in the new sensation, squirming in Caleb’s arms, purring and kneading, though he’s careful never to break through to Caleb’s skin.

“Oh you are a delight, goodness. But I shall have to name you, so that Jester does not get to you first, or you will be something as ridiculous as ‘Nugget’ and ‘Sprinkle’ and you are a majestic kätschen and deserve something befitting your regal bearing, ja?” 

Molly wrinkles his nose, if only mentally, and meows, hoping Caleb will take it for an answer. While Jester’s names are cute for animals, Molly is most certainly more than _just_ an animal at the moment. While he’s contemplating all the possible things a man who called his cat “Frumpkin” could come up with, a surprising thing happens.

Caleb bends his head down and smushes it into Molly’s fur, rubbing his face back and forth through it. “Mmmm. You are so soft.” Caleb mutters into Molly’s coat, almost incomprehensible. “You are so soft, ja, so soft. You are a good, handsome boy.” When he removes his face from Molly’s fur, Caleb curls him back up again and goes to a chair by the corner and sits, settling Molly down in his lap and taking his face between his hands. “You are not a Bartosz,” he begins, very matter of factly. It’s not a name Molly’s familiar with, but it doesn’t sound like _him_ , Caleb’s right. “But, that is a very good cat name. Ja, as good of a cat name as a people name, I think. And you are also not a Junis. If you were a black kitty maybe. Hmm. Stephan? Nein…Magnus? Wie findest du Magnus, Schatz?”

Molly blinks at him, waiting. It isn’t terrible, to say the least.

“Ah, nein,” Caleb shakes his head playfully, and for a moment, Molly’s sad, as he realizes that this is the most lighthearted he’s ever witnessed Caleb to be. “I know. You are Felix.”

Well, that is certainly a…spritely choice. And certainly one that he can live with, for the time being. By way of answer, Molly puts his paws on Caleb’s chest and presses himself up, nuzzling into Caleb’s cheek and down over his ear and the side of his neck, sticking his nose into Caleb’s hair. Turnabout is most certainly fair play.

Thinking back on Frumpkin, Molly decides to take a risk and, very carefully, hooks his claws into Caleb’s clothes and _climbs_. Caleb yelps a bit, but when Molly settles down around his neck, happily, he’s back to chuckling again, and puts a hand up for Molly to nose at.

“I suppose I must share you with the others eventually, but I am glad to know you like me so well, Süße.”

He does like Caleb. He always has, and right now, there are limited avenues through which to express that, though Caleb seems more than receptive to all of them. A thought – a terrible, blessed, wicked thought – pops into Molly’s head. Suddenly nervous, – and why’s that? He’s a _cat_ , for the sake of the Moonweaver! – Molly gives Caleb’s ear a tiny little lick.

Caleb absolutely _loses_ it. His laughter is light and shining and Molly’s stunned by the reaction, almost to the point of falling from his perch as the shoulders beneath him heave and shake. “Ach! That tickles! Komm hier, Felix.” Caleb reaches back and Molly allows himself to be lifted up and over Caleb’s head and back into the secure hold. Absently, Caleb strokes at his head, paying special attention to the extremely soft spots right behind his ears. Molly knows they’re there because Nila told him they were.

Eventually, after a long, almost intimate silence, during which Caleb’s breathing slows and evens so much, Molly almost thinks he’s fallen asleep, he stands, keeping Molly perfectly steady in his arms and exits the room. For the first time since he entered the mansion, Molly actually pays attention to the interior. It’s sparsely furnished, only the rudiments in place, but, here and there, he catches flashes of colour, painted across the walls, and he knows Jester’s touch when he sees it.

At first, he thinks that the room they enter is hers; it’s a field full of wildflowers, bright and sunny and cheerful, just like Jester, but then, he sees the woman sitting at the table, shining her sword, and _knows_.

“Ya-“ before the words are out of Caleb’s mouth, Molly leaps from his grasp and darts up to her, meowing frantically, pawing at her legs.

The chair pushes back with a loud screech and Yasha stands, startled, but Molly doesn’t have the patience to wait, and unlike Caleb, he knows Yasha can take a few claw marks and pinpricks. She’s halfway through some exclamation when he finally pulls himself up to her chest and her arms come around him reflexively as he meows and meows and meows, thinking her name in his head, over and over. He wishes, desperately, that he could cry.

“I…found him,” Caleb manages, bewildered. “I am keeping him. He is called Felix. I just…thought you would like to meet him, since you like Frumpkin so much. But perhaps he is meant to be with you.”

“I- ah, yeah? I guess?”

Though the words are nothing special, the voice is Yasha’s and Molly has been missing it far, far too long and so he keeps meowing, loudly, from his perch in her arms, for lack of any other way to expression the emotions that he can’t convey.

“I think-“ Yasha pauses, as if thinking long and hard about something. “You know more about cats than I do, Caleb. Do you think – is he trying to tell me something? I feel like he wants to tell me something.”

Caleb only shrugs. “I do not know. He is very vocal. But if you scratch under his chin, I am sure he will purr for you.”

When Yasha does as directed, Molly shuts up, instantly purring. He loves her so much and he wants to show her, somehow, and if this can give her comfort, than it’s what he’ll do.

“Hi, Felix,” she says, softly, patting his head a little, and while it’s really sweet, he honestly wishes she’d pet him with just a bit more pressure. Get the kinks out. “Jester will love you. Fjord will not. And I promise that we will not let Nott eat you, though I do not think that will be a problem now that her husband is here. His name is Yeza and he’s very nice and I think he will like you, too.” Molly stops purring for a moment, as he tries to make heads or tails of the idea that _Nott_ is married.

“If you really want to know if he is speaking to you, we could always ask Caduceus,” Caleb interjects, his hopeful tone drawing Molly’s attention. “And, you know, if you wait a bit to show him to Jester, you will get to monopolize him for longer.”

Happily cuddled, Molly pays very little attention to anything else as Yasha and Caleb make their way through the house, but their wishes don’t come true, because someone intercepts them before they can make it to their destination.

“Oh! You’ve gone and made Frumpkin look different?” Nott sidles up, standing on tip toe to peer at Molly more carefully. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense though, because I thought you said that your old Frumpkin looks like your Fey-Frumpkin does.”

“All of this is accurate, and this is not Frumpkin,” Caleb informs her, proudly. “this is Felix, and I found him and now he is ours.”

Molly snuffs quietly, the closest he can get to a laugh, and unfolds himself from Yasha, hopping from her grip over to Caleb’s shoulder, where he manages to sit, front paws settled primly together as he looks down at Nott and blinks his hello.

“Oh wow!” Nott says, and gods, but Molly has missed even her voice. He’s missed them all. “That cat’s got a lot of fluff. It’s impressive!”

“I just gave him a bath, so now he is nice and clean. His fur should settle when it dries fully.” As soon as Caleb finishes speaking, Molly nuzzles at the side of his head and then jumps deftly to the ground and stares up at Nott. This angle is a new one, but she crouches the short rest of the way down and suddenly they’re on even footing with one another.

“Hey there kitty-cat. You made a good choice with Caleb. Since you’re a real cat, we’ll have to keep you away from Nugget, because he’s a real dog, and unlike me, he doesn’t know when not to eat a cat.”

For a moment, Molly’s instincts balk at the idea of a dog and his hair raises just a tad farther, but then Nott begins to stroke his back, just the way he likes it, so he winds around her, pressing all along her, leaving tens of long, white hairs stuck to her dark cloak, holding his head up proudly as he goes. As far as one up’s go, this one is pretty paltry, but, all things considered, he’ll take a win where he can get one.

Nott mentions something about needing to get back to Yeza – and again, _married?_ – and stands to go, leaving him alone with Caleb and Yasha who both look down at him expectantly. He blinks back up at them.

_What?_

“Well, do you want to take him? He hopped to your shoulder, so I think he likes you better.”

“Nein, nein, I think he just wanted a better view of Nott, that is all. I have had him for some time already before. You should take him.”

Caleb and Yasha arguing over him, now _that’s_ something he’s never expected to see before. In the end, it doesn’t matter because Beau come barreling through the hallway, looks at their two friends, killing one another with kindness, looks down at him, shrugs, stuffs the jerky she was carrying in her mouth to free up the hand that isn’t holding a book and bends down to give him a few, swift pets.

“Yeshter’s gon fugkin lob oo,” she says through her full mouth and then stands and continues on her way.

Molly meows ruthlessly as she goes, drawing Caleb and Yasha’s attention to Beau, who has stopped, frozen in place, jerky half removed from her mouth. “What’d I do? I just petted him a bit, I fucking swear!”

Using her distraction to buy him time, he darts over to her, rubbing on her legs, flopping down on her feet, exposing his soft, white belly.

_I died for you. I died for you, and I can’t tell you, so fucking pet me already, godsdamnit!_

“He is unsatisfied by the quality of your pets, Beauregard,” Caleb informs her. “Cats as a whole do now view themselves as subservient to people, they view themselves as equals. He will pester you until you comply.”

_Oh, Moonweaver bless you, Caleb, you whipsmart, sexy, gorgeous-_

But Molly’s internal monologue cuts off as Beau’s hand, rough but slender, finds his stomach and begins to pet it, surprisingly hesitant.

“I didn’t know cats went in for the whole stomach rub thing,” she says, getting braver as she sneaks her hand higher to get at his chin.

“It means he trusts you.”

Caleb’s reply must shake Beau up, strangely enough, because she pauses for a moment before finishing the stroke and then teases at him a little. Molly resists the urge to bat at her hand, claws out. That’s for later. Right now, he just wants to show her his gratitude in the only way he can.

“We were on our way to find Caduceus,” Yasha says. “Is he in his tower?”

“Yeah, but far as I know he won’t be done with the enchantment on those lights until tomorrow. Jessie’s gone to sleep already. She was tired out from helping him, I think, so you may want to wait.” Beau looks down into Molly’s eyes and he tries his damnedest to make himself look emotionally intelligent, if only just enough to freak her out, and maybe, just maybe, it works a bit because she hesitates. But the power of other people in the room stops her from busting out the baby talk. (And if that isn’t something Molly will hold over Caleb _forever_ , he doesn’t know what is. But, it was kind of sweet). “Fjord hasn’t seen him yet?”

“No, Caleb just brought Felix to me, and Nott saw him, but she needed to get back to Yeza.”

Beau snorts. “Yeza’s gonna think we’re crazy. Another pet! At least this one didn’t terrorize him while we were away.” Intently, Beau locks eyes with Molly. “You should sleep in Yeza’s curls, you got that? I think that’d be a great bed and I think he’d like that. He needs some sort of taste of home out here.”

_Taste?!_

“This place isn’t made for halflings, not as far as I can tell, at least. What’re you calling him?”

Molly misses Beau’s introduction to him, far too preoccupied by trying to understand not only how Nott is married, but why her husband is a halfling, of all things. Not that he’s judging. It’s just not what he anticipated. To be fair, he wonders if _anyone_ could have managed to anticipate that.

“Well, just keep him away from Fjord, you know?” he hears Beau say as she gives him one last rub before standing. “G’night.”

“Goodnight.”

“Guten Nacht.”

And once more, Molly is left alone with Yasha and Caleb staring down at him.

“So, it appears that it is time for bed.”

“I think you should take him,” Yasha turns to Caleb. “You found him. He likes you.”

“He likes everyone, Yasha. I have Frumpkin should I want him. You take Felix.”

 _I’ll take myself, thanks,_ Molly thinks, and decides that it’s only right that he spend the night beside Yasha…well…at least _half_ the night. So he rights himself and pads over to Caleb giving him an affectionate rub against the calf, before sitting down before Yasha and letting out the longest, loudest, most plaintive meow of which he’s capable.

“I guess that settles that.” Caleb bends down and scratches his cheek. “Goodnight, Süße. You have made a good choice. Yasha will protect you while you sleep.”

Yasha – whose hands always seemed massive before, but now? _Enormous –_ lifts him deftly into her arms and holds him close. “I will keep you safe, I promise.”

Caleb’s already walking away, and Molly happily resigns himself to this blessed fate. He can last one night more without them knowing. Life is good when you’re a cat, after all. Back in the room painted full of flowers, Yasha sits down on the bed and then, reluctantly, lets Molly from her embrace. The soft mattress, the likes of which he hasn’t seen in far, far too long, is smoothly made, but he makes biscuits in the blanket before turning back around to face her, waiting expectantly for something to happen. He hopes she’ll talk, but somehow, he thinks he’ll be disappointed.

For a while, he is. In silence she removes her belt and boots, hanging everything in it’s place before sitting back down again on the bed. A few minutes of staring off into space later, Yasha stands. “I am sorry Felix, but I have to move the blanket now, so that I can get under it.”

He blinks at her.

She blinks back.

“Or, you know, I don’t want to disturb you, so I can just sleep on top of the covers. That’s fine. You don’t have to mov – oh.”

Molly stands up, makes a circle and then leaps over to the head of the bed, beside the pillow, so that the blanket is free. The bed dips when Yasha lays down beside him and he boops his nose against hers and starts purring. One large hand settles stationary on his back.

“I am very glad Caleb found you. Thank you for wanting to be here with me. You are soft and nice.”

After that, Yasha says nothing more, and eventually, her breathing evens out and she falls asleep, and eventually, he does too, lulled by the familiarity of her by his side. As a cat, Molly’s innate sense of time seems to rival even Caleb’s. He always knows, he’s realized, when three o’clock in the morning is, and wakes instantly at that moment. Yasha is still sleeping peaceably, so Molly wriggles out from under her hand and drops down to the ground, darting off through the silent house.

Caleb’s room is easy to find, if only because the subtle arcane glow of his dancing lights is still going and he is bustling about the room, still awake apparently. A book lays open on the bedside table, and Molly can just picture him, reading by candle light until he can’t hardly keep his eyes open anymore.

Quietly, so as not to startle him, Molly mews.

“Oh, hallo Schatz.” Caleb finishes putting away his book harness and leans down to stroke Molly’s back. “Did you have a nice rest with Yasha?”

Purring ensues by way of answer.

“And now you have come to be with me, eh? That is very kind of you, Süße Felix.” Without any further ado, Caleb picks him up and cuddles him in, quickly stuffing his face in Molly’s fur once more. This, it seems, must be a regular thing for Caleb when he’s alone with a cat. Together, they slip under the covers of the bed and Caleb licks his fingers before reaching out to douse the candle. “Will you stay with me, even though it is prime time for you to be up and running about? I would like that very much, if you would. But you are a cat and unlike Frumpkin, you will do whatever you want to do, and I cannot stop you.”

Molly thinks it would be impossible to stop him from keeping Caleb company at night, if only this one, single time. Laid out over Caleb’s chest, he presses his chin low, swishes his tail once or twice, and sets in kneading at Caleb’s chest, blinking lazily. _I love you, I love you, but you can never know it, save like this_.

Rhythmically, Caleb begins to pet him, from the tip of his nose down as far as his arm will reach, which isn’t quite to his lower back, over and over, with just firm enough pressure to relax him properly, and eventually, when Caleb’s hand stills and his breaths quiet, Molly falls asleep for the second time.

In the morning, he wakes in a different position than he fell asleep in. Caleb is on his side, instead of his back, clutching Molly to his chest. In sleep, Molly can see time and care fall away from Caleb’s beautiful face, and he aches that this were the expression the weary, careworn wizard always wore. But it’s not.

Scooting out from under Caleb’s arm, just a bit, he brings himself close enough to give Caleb’s cheek a lick.

But a stolen kiss is a still a stolen kiss and Molly guiltily retracts, back into the cozy shelter of Caleb’s grasp, purring until he blinks sleepily awake.

“Oh,” Caleb says, voice rough. “You are still here. That is very sweet. But you will leave Yasha alone, hmmm? Oh, I am a wicked man, for I would steal you every night, but you should go to her. She will be missing you, ja?”

Molly stays with Caleb anyways, at least until he groans, stretching out, shoulders popping unseemly and sits up, jostling Molly loose, his cue to go find Yasha, which he does happily enough. And luckily, it seems, for she is still asleep in the same position as when he left her, and he slips back under her hand, purring till she wakes.

Yasha has no words for him that morning, but she does provide him with a smile and some gentle pats before she too gets up to get dressed. Eventually, she picks him up and settles him on her shoulder where he nuzzles into her hair as she steps out of the room. Caleb is there waiting.

“Shall we go find Caduceus?” he asks. “Jester is likely still sleeping, and she can see him afterwards.” There’s a gleam in Caleb’s eye that Molly recognizes as possessiveness and he puffs his chest, preening when he realizes just how little Caleb wants to share him, though, he does want to see Jester, and bother Fjord, while he can.

Yasha gives her consent and together they start up a circular stair. It’s only when they make it half way that he starts to notice the dangling roots which must belong to the giant tree that rises out of the tower.

At the top, the tree stands majestic, and below it, sheltered by its boughs, is the only person Molly can imagine could be the Caduceus Clay of whom Nila told him. He’s positively enormous by comparison to Molly’s current stature, but lanky. His hair is a soft, vibrant pink, and the rest of his lightly furred body grey, and he wears shining green armor, much like the carapace of a beetle. Molly is thoroughly entranced, blinking slowly as he takes in the Nein’s latest friend.

“Oh, hey there, Caleb. Yasha.” His voice is like molasses, slow and sweet and warm. “Good morning. What’ve you got?”

“This is Felix,” Caleb announces. “He is our cat now, but we think that he is trying to tell us something.”

The firbolg chuckles. “Well, of course he does. He’s a creature, just like you.” Caduceus locks gazes with him and blinks just as long and slow as Molly had before, and he finds himself liking the fellow rather unintentionally. “Hey there, Felix. How’re you doing?”

Molly stays where he is, but meows. _“Pretty good thanks.”_

“Oh, well that’s nice. I’m glad to hear it.”

This time, when Molly blinks, he does so out of confusion more than anything else.

“Have you got something you wanted to tell Caleb and Yasha? They’re the ones that’re taking care of you right now.”

_“Can you understand me?”_

“Oh, yeah. I sure can.”

 _“Oh, well that’s convenient,”_ Molly replies. _“My name is actually Mollymauk. I’m not sure if they’ve said anything about me, but-“_

“Woah!” Caduceus rocks back on the bench. “They didn’t tell me you were a cat.”

If Molly could be laughing, he would have been, because the look on Caleb’s face at Caduceus’ contextually lacking exclaimation is absolutely priceless. _“No, no, I wasn’t a cat before, I was a tiefling. They don’t know I’m me. I’m hoping you can tell them, for me. And…can you tell Yasha that I love her, please?”_

“No problem. I’m sure they’ll be real happy to hear that.”

Molly’s heart jumps and he starts to knead at Yasha’s shoulder, nervous but excited as Caduceus turns back to his friends. He’s not entirely sure what he expects, what he even _wants_ , but it won’t matter in too terribly long, because, even though Caduceus is a slow talker, it takes few words to explain his situation.

“Well, you were right,” Caduceus begins. “Your cat friend was trying to tell you something. His name isn’t Felix. It’s Mollymauk.”

Yasha’s arms begin to tremble.

“M-Molly?” Though he can’t see her, Molly imagines that her eyes are wide ;she stilgoes veryl beneath him, and that’s indicator enough.

“He wants you to know he loves you, Yasha,” Caduceus says as Molly rubs up against her cheek insistently. He spares a glance to Caleb again, who has gone very still and blank, and Molly’s heart hurts.

_“Please tell Caleb that he gives the best massages I’ve ever had and thank him for cleaning me up. Tell him that…tell him… oh, just ‘thank you’.”_

“Mister Caleb,” – and only then does Molly bristle his fur at this newcomer, for that’s _his_ epitaph – “Mister Mollymauk says that you give a real good massage and that he’s grateful you cleaned him up. He says ‘Thank you.’ Now,” Caduceus locks their gazes again. “How’d you end up a cat?”

_“Beats me. But hey, I’m alive, so that’s something.”_

“Hmm, well, that’s not helpful at all. Well, I’ve heard a lot about you and I’m real glad that you’ve managed to find your friends, Mister Mollymauk.”

 _“Me too,”_ he can’t but reply. _“Me too.”_

“We will find a way to right you, Molly.” It’s Caleb who speaks, sounding suddenly fragile and urgent all at once. “We will find a way.”

With one last rub against Yasha, Molly hops down from her shoulder and pads up to Caleb, threading between his legs.

 _I know you will. I know_.

“Well,” Caleb continues. “I suppose this will prevent Jester from attempting to rename you, Mister Mollymauk, and prevent Fjord from casting you out, although I think you will have lost roommate privileges for the time being.

If Caleb’s thinking about the night before, he doesn’t show it. He lets a little _mmrp_ leave his throat and stretches a leg out towards Caleb, who seems to understand, as he then lifts Molly from the ground ,though he does not immediately cuddle him as he had before.

“Beau will probably yell.” It’s Yasha who says it, and Caleb chuckles. Molly uses the opportunity to nuzzle him, whether he likes it or not. “We should probably tell them, shouldn’t we?”

“Probably.” Caleb pats Molly’s head absently. “Caduceus, will you translate Molly for us in a moment?”

“ ‘course.”

Expectantly, Molly turns in Caleb’s arms, pawing up his front as Caleb clears his throat.

“Welcome home, Molly, to the Mighty Nein.”

Heart tight, Molly looks up at him for a long, long time, and then, over at Yasha, whose eyes are full of tears.

_“It’s good to be home.”_


End file.
